She used her math to calculate the costs. “$5.50 and shipping is $2.00. That is $7.50 and I will have…$4 left.” I clicked the Buy It Now button on the black strapless sequined Barbie number and we waited.

I got home late last evening from a blustery evening out and checked the mail on the way in. A squishy envelope told me it had arrived and I hoped she hadn’t fallen asleep yet so I could see her wide eyes and smile.

She wasn’t and I got to see the celebration and anticipation of a little black dress.

As we woke this morning, disappointed at the black ice instead of white snow, she surprised her Barbie with a new dress. But disappointment brought her sagging into my office complaining because it was too big.

“Hang on, we’ll fix it. Sometimes in fashion you just have to make-do. You never know what you’ll have to use. I think this bobby pin will work just fine.”

I slipped the bobby pin over the folds of the back of the little black number, turned her around and we both beemed when it stayed.

One of my dreams for you, my dear daughters, is that you dive–dive with abandon and joy and courage from whatever platform you may be standing on. Not with baby steps to the end and a falling off, hoping that the jump doesn’t fail but a running from the start, no-second-guessing, free-falling dive.

I asked you to fly with me. Literally, to take a little trip.

You started with your baby steps. “Do we really have to go?” “It’s not like riding in a car! It’s in the air"!” “What if the plane falls from the sky, mother?” My heart fell. Run, child, run! No need to fear! If you’d only let go, you would laugh with abandon and fly without fear.

But baby steps and more baby steps. Weeks and weeks of baby steps on the diving board and still no sign of that diving I dream for you.

I finally ask myself why I dive. Why is it that I’m able to run from the back of the board and dive without fear?

Aha, the answer is always the same.

I assumed that she has learned that it’s always the same, but no, I need to remind her, no teach her, the answer—the key to learning to dive, or fly, as it were without fear.

“You do know, dear daughter, that the very worst case scenario is that we go get to meet Jesus? That is the worst that can happen.”

She giggles because how funny that sounds.

“Yes, daughter, that’s what I mean. If the worse case scenario is actually the best case scenario after all, you have no need to fear.”

And she gets it. I can see it in her eyes she’s backing up from the baby steps, starting over at the beginning of the board and planning her run to the dive at the end.

It’s the same answer for all of us when we’re too afraid to dive isn’t it?

Jesus is waiting at the end of our worse-case scenario. No matter what we’re asked to do, no matter how badly we fail or fall or hurt or even die, Jesus will be there waiting to meet us.

He hurts again and follows a path he ought not go. I wonder where is the justice? When will my God follow through of his promise to spite my enemies?

I wonder when I got so hard, so worried about making it right, so incapable of forgiving the 77 times.

I wonder if I’m doing it right. Any of it. Is it pleasing to Him? His will, his way?

I wonder if I’ll ever quit caring about what they think—second guess every decision instead of just letting joy be joy.

I wonder if he will ever be healed. Will his words not ever sting and my attempts thrown in my face. Will I ever stop trying, putting myself out there knowing I will be hurt again, him incapable of returning what I offered.

In all my wondering, I forget it is He whom I must wonder on.

He will provide justice–and more, grace–in His way. He will give me grace to forgive. He will heal, both he and me. He will direct paths.

If I only marvel at him, give him my rapt attention, wonder at the person instead of wandering my own way. Then, the wondering and wandering will cease and true wonder begins.

Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.

Last night at Walmart I spent a boatload of money. Ugh. I hate that. But Lexi’s candy-themed birthday party is this weekend so we grabbed a bunch candy 50% off and then both girls needed new book bags because the ones they’ve been using just haven’t worked out. And then I went ahead and bought her gifts and all the paper products and the cookie cake I need to serve at her school lunch today. You know how it goes there.

While we were at the customer service counter before we picked out all this, trying to return a toy we didn’t use as a gift, I heard it. That western PA/MD accent that I can pick out of any crowd because every single one of extended family members speaks with it. I hear it and it transforms me to my roots, all the way from the Carolina blue skies to the Appalachian mountains where I lived just until 3 and where we return as often as we can.

She confirmed she was from Pittsburgh and we laughed an understanding laugh about the accent, how we both can pick it out from a crowd. We talked about the county where my grandmother lives, closest to Pittsburgh and she knew someone that worked there with my mother’s maiden name. That never happens here, away from my roots.

As we connected, we were in our own little world. It wasn’t two strangers over a Walmart customer service counter, it was somehow family, a knowing, a trust because even in a small way our roots were connected.

I often hope it’s the same when I meet the One in whom I am rooted. A knowing. A trust. Family.

Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.